Transcendence
by The Geeky Saxophonist
Summary: What if Knives isn't the most dangerous thing Gunsmoke has to fear? The Predacons are determined to have the Plants for their own. The Maximals, with the help of the legendary outlaw Vash the Stampede, must protect the one thing keeping the planet alive.
1. Prologue

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**

Hello, readers! As a heads up, this story will contain a large combination of elements from both Trigun Maximum and the Trigun anime and the Beast Era continuity of the Transformers universe with ideas from the Super-God Masterforce anime and references to original Generation 1 timeline (phew!). I'll try my best to explain things so that people who are unfamiliar with either Trigun or the Transformers or the specific continuities will understand. If you still have trouble understanding, I'd suggest visiting TFWiki or Trigun Wiki for clarification—they are very helpful databases—or even better, read/watch the source material.

I hope you'll enjoy this crossover!

**PROLOGUE**

Sector 4219 was home to a most dreadfully empty and barren planet, devoid of nearly any life. It was a wonder this was classified as an organic planet. The only living things seemed to be the monstrous worm-like creatures that lived below the sands and the strange feathered beasts that scrounged about in herds.

A sentient mechanical being who went by Grader, alien to this planet, traced circles in the sand with a metal finger. He and his teammate leaned against the hull of their spacecraft in meager shadow. The prolonged exposure to the heat of the desert was beginning to wreak havoc with their internal systems. It was probably the presence of the double-sun that was responsible. Twice the radiation equaled twice the problems.

Grader flicked sand off of his digit with the robot equivalent of a sigh. He was lean in appearance, but his build suggested he was a considerable fighter. His coloring ranged from dark gray to black, blending him well with shadow—the only part of his body that exhibited color were his steely-blue optics.

"Slag. You'd think they'd send us back to Cybertron by now," he complained. "There's _nothing_ worthwhile here."

The other mech, Dicrux—a tall, strong thing with sandy coloring—nodded once in agreement. This 'bot was rather quiet in nature, but he fully agreed. The only thing this planet was good for was getting grit stuck in a 'bots's chassis. He shielded his optics from the double-sun as he stared up into the deep blue sky.

"I hope we'll go back soon," Dicrux said in a barely audible voice. He leaned his head against his servo and glanced over at Grader. "I don't like it here."

A sudden transmission from their commanding officer, Crossstriker, cut off Grader before he could reply.

_ "All units report to the bridge."_

"Ah! We can finally get out of this damn heat!" Grader beamed. "Maybe they've come to their senses and are finally sending us home!"

Dicrux grinned and the two of them bounded towards the entrance.

…

The news was far from what Grader and Dicrux had expected.

"I've detected a group of crafts heading straight for this planet," explained Howldraft, the team's communications specialist. The team had gathered about the monitors at his station with the two youngest 'bots right in front.

"More Predacons?" asked Grader eagerly. "Maximals?"

"Neither." Howldraft tweaked several dials, bringing to the screen an image of foreign spacecraft, adorned with equally foreign symbols. "From the readings they're giving off, these are carbon-based life forms. Organics."

Dicrux blinked slowly. "Organics?" he repeated softly, sounding almost confused.

"They should be no problem," Grader grinned, "We can get rid of them easily!"

Crossstriker cuffed him. "No, Grader. Think a bit before you act." The commander tapped his head with a stern glance at the younger Predacon. "Some of the organics aboard these ships are giving off incredible energy readings. It's highly likely we could utilize these organics' power to make energon."

Grader and Dicrux exchanged glances. If their team returned to Cybertron with a healthy supply of energon for the Predacon resistance, there'd be no doubt that they'd see a promotion from scrappy exploration team to warriors. And maybe, they'd finally get their official assignment of rank—at their age, they were only at an apprentices' level. Like any young Predacon, they were eager to rise in the ranks.

"For now, we'll track their progress until they land," Crossstriker said. "Then we'll investigate." He turned face and exited the bridge, dismissing his crew. "Back to your posts."

All thoughts of wanting to go home were gone from Grader and Dicrux's processors. Instead, they were replaced with dreams of glory…

…

It was several solar-cycles later when the alien crafts landed. Something seemingly had gone wrong as some of the ships had begun to fall apart and crash brokenly on to the sands. Nonetheless, a good number had survived.

Crossstriker had taken Grader and Dicrux with him to investigate the nearest fallen ship for the mystery energy source. The mission would take the two Predacons off of their least favorite task of guard duty. Being the youngest members of the team automatically gave them the least desirable jobs, but an upside was that they got to be trained by a seasoned warrior like Crossstriker.

The nearest ship was rather far away from the Predacon's craft. Even in jet mode, it took the three 'bots a good portion of the solar-cycle to get there. Grader was glad he wasn't the one guiding them—navigating was hard in the monotonous desert, and the double-sun messed with his navigational systems. In other words, he'd be hopelessly lost.

Soon, a metal behemoth reared up in the distance—the ship.

"Organics built that?" Grader gasped in awe. It was bigger than the Predacon teams' ship. And there were so many of these organic ships... It was really quite amazing to Grader and Dicrux that organic creatures were capable of building ships of that caliber.

Crossstriker gave the order to land and transform. "Now, we don't want these organics to see us or hear us. For all they know, we aren't here. Stay out of their sights, but keep them in yours," he instructed. "From now on, we communicate through our internal comm-links."

The mechs followed the command. Silently, they peered over the dune, which was more of a high-walled crater in the sand formed by the impact of the ship. The organic creatures clustered about the ship's wreck looked small, pitiful. _How did they even build such a ship_, Grader wondered.

But Crossstriker soon realized these were the creatures from the planet Earth, where their ancestors, the Autobots and Decepticons, had fought the Great War stellar-cycles before—human beings.

"We don't underestimate humans," he told Grader and Dicrux.

The Predacons silently observed the humans for the next five solar-cycles. In this time, the powerful life forms that had been detected by Howldraft were finally sighted. They were contained in large bulbs of some type. The organisms themselves were of indiscriminate shapes, though the energy readings they gave off were frighteningly powerful. Crossstriker took a schematic, which was sent to Rotor, the team's science officer, to examine.

Rotor responded shortly after and explained that these organisms were capable of producing vast amounts of matter that could be utilized to help a race of organisms survive, including energon.

That was news they wanted to hear.

The only problem was that they needed the humans' knowledge of how to retrieve the energy from these beings. Predacons did not have extensive datatrax on organic creatures and how their systems worked—their concerns were mainly about mechanical beings. Namely, themselves.

Crossstriker decided upon a plan of action to obtain this vital information about the life forms. They were going to employ Pretender technology to live amongst the humans and learn how to harvest the energy from the organisms.

Becoming a Pretender was much different then simply taking on a new alternate mode, as well as much more difficult. It meant bonding one's coding with a special shell that would convert the Transformer to the equivalent of the organism it was on a molecular level. It not only made the most possibly convincing disguise, but hid the fact that they were robots from fellow Cybertronians.

This advanced technology, though, was kept under wraps by the Maximal High Council—in the wrong hands, Pretender technology could be horribly misused. A variation the technology was distributed to better take on alternate forms of organic creatures.

But, as could be expected, this potent technology was no longer of top secret status: a Predacon double-agent and swindler had secured and secretly sold the datatrax on Pretender technology to Predacons who offered enough energon.

Crossstriker had been one of the buyers.

Grader and Dicrux were once again chosen to accompany him on their commander on this mission. Being younger and more impressionable, the two mechs would better be able to take on characteristics of the humans. The more believable the disguise, the better chance the Predacons would get what they wanted.

Without a second thought, Grader and Dicrux had bonded to their Pretender shells. The dreams of glory were nearer than ever and the challenge of the mission filled their circuits with exhilaration. All notions of risks were discarded from their processors—there was no time for fear, only for success. And that's just what they'd have.

…

That night, three newcomers appeared among the people from the Project SEEDs cold-sleep ship 3-670. Among the disarray and struggle for survival, their appearance was left unnoticed and unquestioned.

The Predacons' plan had begun.


	2. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

_The year is Stardate 0113._

_Two years have passed since the Fifth Moon Incident, where the notorious outlaw, Vash the Stampede, drilled a hole in Gunsmoke's Fifth Moon and obliterated the city of Augusta with an incredible power known as the Angel Arm._

_He has been missing for two years now._

It was midday. A small, black cat was poking about in the trash cans in a dusty little alleyway. People passed by the alley, completely unaware of the little animal, as he paid no attention to them. The cat found the remains of a sandwich and hopped down to enjoy his meal.

That's when he noticed that the people seemed to be in some hurry. Confused and urgent shouts split the air as they rushed past. Once again, the cat decided to take no notice. He'd stay out of their business, and they'd stay out of his.

The cat was half-finished with the sandwich when he suddenly heard what the people were saying.

Vash the Stampede was here.

The cat's green eyes seemed to double in size. He immediately abandoned his meal and dashed out after the crowd. On the way, he heard the latest news: The local family feud between the Fleets and the Orkettes had reached a new low—a sand-steamer had been hijacked and someone had crashed an armored car into the side in addition to a hostage situation. Vash had made a surprise appearance and intervened, adding to the chaos.

The cat hadn't seen the outlaw in two years. For years, he had followed Vash about the planet as discreetly as possible, watching his every move. Losing him during the Fifth Moon Incident had frustrated the cat beyond belief. It was as if Vash had disappeared from the face of Gunsmoke—all hints of his scent, bits of clothing, anything indicating Vash's being were gone. The only thing that remained of him was the ruins of Augusta.

This news was great news!

He leapt up onto a fence, then to a windowsill, then to the roof of a building. The cat trotted along the rooftops until he had full view of the situation. He watched it play out, whiskers twitching with interest. This was definitely Vash the Stampede.

The cat slinked back down into an alleyway. He looked around quickly to ensure it was deserted. He opened his jaws, but instead of the expected meow, words with a slightly tinny quality came out instead.

"Maximize!"

The cat suddenly changed shape into a small robot; skinny, and about the height of a small child. If anyone had witnessed this, they probably would have dismissed it as a hallucination, but the cat had indeed transformed.

The little robot fiddled with a dial under a plate of armor on his wrist, remarking quietly to himself, "Oh man, the team's going to be glad to here this!"

…

Unbeknownst to the inhabitants of the planet below, an alien spacecraft had been stationed on their second moon for quite a few years now. It was about the size of an Orca-class sand-steamer and a dull silver in color. On its hull, its name was inscribed in the aliens' language along with an emblem defining its faction. If one was human, they'd have no idea what it said. If one was of the planet Cybertron, they'd know it was the Maximal craft _Airtrooper._

On board snoozed a stocky blue-green mech.

"Revolute to _Airtrooper._"

The 'bot, who was seated at the communications module, jolted awake from his stasis nap at the sound of the incoming transmission. Frantically, he entered in a code to open the communications channel, and hoped no one had seen him napping.

"This is Trapdash," the mech answered the transmission.

"Yo, Trapdash!" the small cat-bot exclaimed.

The 'bot returned the greeting. "Hey! What's up, Rev?"

"You'll never guess who I found!" Rev sounded excited.

Trapdash leaned forward in anticipation. "No...!"

"Yup," Rev said. Trapdash could picture the little 'bot nodding with a wide grin on his faceplate. "Vash the Stampede."

"Ha _ha!_ I knew he was still kicking around somewhere on Gunsmoke!" Trapdash laughed. "Hold on a klik, I'll get Sharpshot on the line."

The mech swiveled about on his seat to a different module. He flicked several levers and with a stylistic twirl of his finger, pressed a green button.

"Hey, Sharpshot!" He drew out the second syllable.

A deeper voice replied promptly. "Yes?"

Trapdash's leaned back in his seat, and crossed his legs leisurely with a grin. "Rev's on the line. He's got news you might wanna hear."

Sharpshot was on the bridge in less than a nano-klik.

"It's Vash, isn't it. You found him?" the tall mech exclaimed.

"It wouldn't hurt to lower your voice, Sharpshot," Rev complained.

The mech sighed irately. "Sorry. Did you find Vash?" he asked at a quieter volume.

"Sure did. He showed up during a conflict between those families over some old Plant."

Sharpshot sighed again, this time in relief. "Thank Primus you found him. I was starting to think he'd died after the Fifth Moon Incident."

"Naw, he's very alive," Rev reassured, getting cut off by the sudden sound of gunshots. "That was him, just then. The guy's trying to scare the bystanders out of the area, I think." He paused for a moment, probably to observe the action. "Hey, I also picked up a strange signature by the sand-steamer. I'll send it to Brand to check out." Brand was the third member of the crew aboard the _Airtrooper._ "It had hints of Pred,"

"More Predacons?" Trapdash squealed. Sharpshot sighed once again, although this time it sounded like more of a snort.

"_More?_" Rev echoed. "I don't like the sound of that."

"There's been a rise in Predacon activity in the last deca-cycle," Sharpshot reported grimly. "They must know Vash has come out of hiding."

Rev emitted a cat-like growl. "Well, that's great."

"I know Vash can hold his own in a fight, but I doubt he'd survive a fight against a Pred," Sharpshot reflected. "But they won't kill him since he's a Plant… at least not right away."

Trapdash was suddenly serious. "If they get a hold of him… Primus forbid."

"Primus forbid indeed." Sharpshot planted a firm servo down onto the module. "I've decided. We're going down there."

"_What!_ We'll be obliterated!" Rev exclaimed. "Four against who knows how many Preds!"

The tall mech's faceplate turned exceedingly serious as he responded. "Four is better than none. If the Plants are seized by the Predacons, every organic on Gunsmoke will _die._ As Maximals, we are to protect life, not sit around and let it be destroyed."

"Right," Rev replied sheepishly.

"And don't forget, we'll be fighting on the same side as Vash. I'm sure he's an amazing ally to have," Trapdash put in.

Sharpshot nodded, then straightened up and took on a commanding tone. "We'll be reformatting ASAP. Rev, rendezvous with me at coordinates E-211, B-105 in one solar-cycle. Contact me if things change and that won't work out."

"Roger!" the small Maximal confirmed. A loud flurry of gunshots interrupted Rev. "Whoops, looks like I have to go. See you then." The transmission cut off.

"Well, that's sudden," Trapdash commented. He cocked his head. "Say, you told Rev to rendezvous with _you_, not _us. _What about me and Brand?"

Sharpshot glanced down at the communications specialist. "I'll go over my plans for you two once Brand's done with his work. For now, start preparing the ship's system for extended leave."

"Yes sir!" Trapdash saluted. He turned back to his equipment with a grin playing on his mouthplate. _Finally, _he thought, fingers dancing across the keyboard,_ we'll get to see some action!_


End file.
